the other bone collector – l’altro collezionista d’ossa – alt colecţionar de oase

valeriu dg barbu

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the clouds are barking at my window, cut out of lived-in bone,
a Sun strapped in a harness moans
implosive, the salamaster tear is wailing in a syringe,
the cure for the day that embittered the dust of dumbfounded worlds, morbid trajectories
and corrosive intentions for a love increasingly poor, unable to reach the standard
for a Death, in charge of the props, like a tyrant tamed by several perfect wounds
that the longing multiplied… here’s today without tomorrow, a mere spark and a wonder –
logically there is a beyond as long as there is a here, and in a sublime delirium, we shed our fears
healed from life- wound, edified and having a clue about how narrow the universe is
what a largely famous vain
the bone endures bleached, the only wise man is not the time as much as the one who lived it
guarding…

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